


London Smog and Guns

by Foodmoon



Series: Of Tea and Glitter Guns and Cats [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Drunkenness, Gen, M/M, Mention of nakedness, Minor Violence on Q's Part, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 22:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13533651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodmoon/pseuds/Foodmoon
Summary: Cold London Smog and drunkenness prove to be a bad combination.





	London Smog and Guns

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine.
> 
> London Fog: Vanilla latte Earl Grey  
> London Smog: Vanilla latte Earl Grey with a shot of espresso

The third time, Q comes home to a silent alarm going off, but none of his traps sprung. It could be Bond, except for the fact that he didn’t set off any of the alarms the last two times he broke in. It’s a bad sign. A very bad sign. But the flat is dead silent, so it’s possible the intruder is gone.

Q pulls a very lethal, experimental little gadget out of his pocket just in case, and skulks into the kitchen first. Then he spots the cat treat baggie in the bin, and the paper coffee cup on the counter and relaxes. For all Bond’s faults, overlooking an intruder (other than himself) is not among them. He stows the gadget and picks up the cup of what he assumes to be a London Fog (because his predilection for Earl Grey is no secret) and takes a sip.

And manages, only just, not to spit. It’s a near thing. The bitterness is revolting.

Taking the cup with him, he stalks into the bedroom (because of course Bond will be there), far from amused at his notion of pranks. Then gags. Bond smells like a brewery. Even the cats are draped as far down his legs as they can manage. Q grimaces, climbs on the bed, noticing that Bond doesn’t so much as twitch, even when he shoos the cats off and stands. And-  
  
He kicks Bond off the bed without remorse.

Bond comes up half flailing, gun in hand, aimed at Q. Who freezes, cup still in hand, to stare coldly at Bond until he’s recognized.  
  
“If you _must_ sleep in my bed, at least be so kind as to not smell like a pub.”

Bond stares at him blankly.

He sighs and gets off the bed, then holds out his free hand. “Gun.”

After a slight hesitation, that looks more like trying to process than reluctance, Bond hands it over. And continues to stand there looking blank.

Q sets it on a dresser, then comes back and holds out his hand again. “Anything you don’t want to see ruined.”

Bond hands over his wallet and watch, keys, and surprisingly one of Q’s own codebreakers. It’s more surprising that Bond hasn’t managed to destroy it (he destroys everything, and Q’s quite certain this one was reported as being toasted), than it is that he’s used it to crack Q’s own safeguards. He should be angry, and he _is,_ but he’s also weirdly flattered that Bond valued it enough to keep it intact.

Rolling his eyes when Bond continues to stand there, dazed, he pushes him into the bathroom and the shower. When even that doesn’t elicit a response, he removes the lid from the cup and dashes the contents into Bond’s face.

The 00 looks startled. He wipes his eyes and stares down at his suit for a long moment before lifting his baffled gaze to Q. “What?”

_“That_ is a London _Smog._ And it’s tepid. Take a shower. I’m going to change the linens, because they now _reek_ and they’ll need washing.” With a huff, he tosses the empty cup and lid into the bin and stomps out. Behind him, he hears the water go on.

He builds the glitter gun.  
  
Or rather, he shoots the design to R, with instructions to bribe the bullet makers with a picture of Bond’s face when he tries the thing out.

Then he shuts his laptop and goes off to strip and remake the bed so he can stand sleeping it in. As an afterthought, he pulls what had been a mis-sized sleeping shirt out of the back of a drawer and tosses it on Bond’s side of the bed.

What?

So he likes his agents safe. And sending one home, even a 00, while 90% asleep, mostly drunk, and in a sopping suit isn’t the safest thing on the planet. He can be flexible. And it’s not like he really has anything else that the man can fit into.

He trusts that the man who once managed to hitch a ride naked (the entire trip) with a famously man-hating supermodel lesbian without injury _(and then proceeded to saunter into MI-6 with only a bag knotted around his hips and the expression of the cat who got the canary),_ can manage to get from one London flat to another in a ruined suit without being arrested.

It can wait until the morning, however, since Bond is clearly incapable of so much as making it _out_ of the flat at the moment.

He forgets to be worried that Bond still hasn’t made it out of the bathroom, and is fast asleep by the time Bond totters out, marginally more awake than when he hit the floor courtesy of Q’s foot.

And in the morning?

Bond is gone, of course. And there’s an empty plate and mug on the counter. A _new_ plate and a _new_ mug. The kitchen smells of cooking. Curious, Q looks around and finds a pan of potatoes, eggs and sausage on the warmer. The tin of loose leaf Earl Grey and the pitcher of honey are hintingly close to the mug.

Okay, so maybe he won’t send the agent out with a glitter gun. This time.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am quite aware that most lesbians are no more man-hating than any other woman.
> 
> But if this world can unironically have a series of 007s with identical names and backgrounds, it can have a supermodel famous for her cutting scorn of men and rich enough to have her own private jet. Who gives James (who does naked dignity and careful non-flirty quite well since he's motivated) a ride to piss off her girlfriend, plays cards with him for the duration, and then has her driver drop him off at MI-6 with nothing other than a clothing bag wrapped around his hips. The bag was appropriated to keep his ass off her seats.
> 
> If it's not obvious, espresso is extremely bitter once it cools. A London Fog (as Q was expecting) probably wouldn't be terrible even cold, but I imagine a London Smog would be quite nasty cold.
> 
> James ordered a London Fog. However, since he was obviously drunk (the smell makes that clear), the barista assumed it was for him and decided to be nice and add a shot of espresso in hopes that it would help him get home without getting into any unfortunate accidents due to being drunk.
> 
> Q is not curious about the reason for James' drunkenness. The reason is simple. He has a very good idea of just how the agent's latest minor mission went wrong at the expense of civilians. He's also too tired to do sympathy. Mostly he only gets to go home when Q branch evicts their overlord to sleep before he faints and lands himself in medical.
> 
> This one was being stubborn about the ending. I obviously had time to overthink it.  
> Editing comments are fine, but please be gentle.  
> I know it's rough, no need to tell me.  
> Kudos and comments always welcome.


End file.
